Red Alert III Firebird
by Preston1022
Summary: His name is Firebird, An Allied commando who lives up to his title sent well behind enemy lines, but, is he really on their side? please R
1. Chapter 1

Red Alert III

"Firebird"

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Red Alert 3 franchise, and/or its characters, those belong to EA and whoever else owns C&C.

_"HQ London! HQ London this is Bravo Company, onboard MCV taking heavy damage, requesting reinforcements, over!"_

_"Bravo this is HQ; we seem to have trouble tracking you on satellite, what's your status over?"_

_"HQ, we have lost ground. We are currently being overrun by Commies, Request…"_

_"Bravo Company, what's your status, over?"_

_"Bravo Company, this is HQ London, what's going on down there, over?"_

_"Sir, this is Staff Sergeant Stanton of Bravo Company, we have just lost our company commander when the MCV Bridge exploded. MCV stranded on sandbar, whatever is left of Alpha and Bravo is on the decks fighting Twinblades. Where the hell are those…?"_

_"Bravo? Bravo what's your status over?"_

_"Bravo Company this is Field Marshall Bingham of HQ London. If you can hear me, we are sending a commando en route to your position. I repeat we are sending a commando as requested. A strike team is on its way but will take some time-"_

_"Wait, Tanya's coming to the rescue? Oh capital, uh I mean, reinforcements are greatly appreciated, over."_

_"Sorry to Disappoint. Special Agent Tanya is on another mission. However, the new commando I believe will be a very pleasant surprise for you and your men on the battlefield. His codename is 'Firebird'; hold out until he arrives."_

_"Hold out? Sir, with respect, how in the hell will we spot this 'commando' when he arrives, over?"_

_"Ooh you'll know trust me; HQ London, out."_

It was a suicide mission, a lone B2-X Century Bomber, no air support, going well into heavily armored enemy territory with nothing but a clunky Mirage camo-generator, risking life and limb just to drop off a single commando. To both pilots and crew aboard, the decision was unanimous, "What are we waiting for?"

The cloaked bomber looked more like a gigantic blurry bubble as it few down from the shroud of a cloudbank. Never breaking its cover, just decelerating enough to make it look natural to the naked eye. So far, the mission was looking good. Passing by a small patrol fleet of Dreadnaught warships, escorted by enough Anti-air artillery ships to turn them into Swiss, at the altitude they were at, before anyone could say, "Were spotted."

Though the generator muffled the jet engines to a whisper, the cargo hull felt like standing behind booming stereos during a heavy metal concert. It was so loud the engineers onboard keeping the generator running could only communicate through hand signals. This only made an already precarious mission that more difficult.

Firebird just sat by the corner, typing on the small computer that took up most of his right forearm, ignoring the generator. With his black fire retardant suit laced with blue body armor, he appeared like any other Peacekeeper in Vindicator gear used for high altitude. The thing that stuck out by the crew, besides his alienated demeanor, was the Allied falcon emblem replaced by a red flaming phoenix on the chest.

He glanced back at the three engineers. Watching in amusement as they worked on the generator, arguing and bumping onto one another like the three , the hull illuminated neon red from the emergency lights all around. The emergency siren muffled by the generator's screeches. Although the announcement muffled, the message remained clear to them. _"Emergency maneuvers, those damn commies spotted us! Prepare to drop."_

Just then, a barrage of Mig rounds peppered a diagonal line through the hull, large bullets ricocheting inside the cabin. One bullet was all it took to shut down the generator.

The cabin surrounded by gattling gunfire, they felt the bomber loose altitude. That was when the flak explosions mixed into the barrage.

Lying on his back, holding his head, Firebird crept over to the switch to the main hatch. He crawled on his stomach, barely missing a round by an inch or two. All he had to do was aim his hand, sync with the circuits and plastic. It only took two seconds before the switch melted, and the doors began to slide open.

The gust of wind felt like a vacuum as he held on for dear life, he could see the bright blue sky, the clouds of artillery fire and of course a few Migs behind them. He could hear the screams of the engineers, their prayers, in the corner of his eye he could see one of them rushing towards him, ducking his head, clutching onto his box of tools. The other two laid there, one on top of the other. Blood pooled around their bullet-ridden corpses.

He could feel the panic all around him, the shells, the screaming. He had to wait for the right moment to jump. First, he had to get rid of a few birds.

As he reached towards the Mig, he finally synchronized with the aircraft. He concentrated on the faceless pilot, imagining the person's cells bursting onto flames, flesh burning into a fine black.

The engineer watched in aw as one of the Mig fighters went down with a flaming cockpit. Soon after, another Mig flew, its thrusters making a sharp turn for the exposed rear. The engineer cowered as the Mig burst into flames, showering the jungle below with melted metal and charred remains.

"_Get the hell outta here! Were going down!" _the pilot's frantic voice bellowed over the speakers _"I'm crash landing into that commie base; I'll be damned in hell if I don't take some of those soviet bastards with me as I can, Over and out!"_

Firebird did not wait to hear what the captain had to say. The engineer followed suit, cannonballing off.

The two watched the Century bomber go down in flames, the remaining squadron peppering every inch of metal. They could hear the popping of anti-air rounds, and a brief thump in the whooshing air.

Firebird pulled the cord to his chute. The force backward yanked the breath from his lungs. He glanced back at the white mass of cloth; not just saving his life, but making him a slow moving target downward. He then looked up to see the Engineer's chute not far behind, an even bigger target.

He calculated the ground distance ratio, wind effect, both Newton's law and Murphy's Law in effect. He rolled down onto the dirt, automatically unclipping his parachute before hitting the ground. He felt as though being thrown out of a speeding car, disoriented, spinning violently, sand and dirt splashing all over, and then sliding to a halt.

Picking himself up, he glanced back as the engineer plunged into the sea nearby. The splash and the conspicuous moving parachute made it too dangerous to rescue the engineer. Too late, noticing a fleet of splashing Stingray cruisers, looking like toy boats in the distance. He counted ten, no, fifteen stingray ships north of them, getting closer by the minute.

He quickly mentally synchronized with the parachute, set it ablaze. He did not stop long enough to check on the engineer, for he had plans of his own. "Hey wait!" screamed the engineer in his nasally whinny voice "Hey where are you going? I need your help!" He dove under, swimming towards the beachhead. A wave came in the moment he felt sand to washed him ashore.

Firebird just stood behind the mountainside, hiding behind the cover of bushes.

Furious, the engineer ran over to him, his uniform soaked, still dragging ripcords in the sand. He cusses, recalling his near drowning, and how he just stood there, even as his parachute caught on fire. He was too pissed off to understand why the chute caught on fire.

However, Firebird just stood there, not even acknowledging the other man, just looked out onto the corner of the mountainside, as if waiting for something. The Engineer lunged for him, a burst of excruciating pain rushed through the tips of his hands. He jolted away, shaking his hands, trying to ease the pain. He sat down, blowing on his hands.

"Keep quiet" Firebird snapped. His voice muffled inside his helmet. The engineer just froze, wide-eyed. For the beginning of the mission until now, the commando had been silent. The engineer took cover in the bushes near Firebird.

He flipped open the forearm computer, clicking on the Satellite map. It pinpointing that they were far south of the island. Seven squares east of their position, a heavily armed soviet stronghold. He counted enough red squares and moving red dots to know they were deep in the scorpion's burrow.

The two lay down, hugging the ground. Firebird could hear the splashing of the Stingray's metallic spider legs extending as they came three by three onto the beach. Their legs made a clanking noise as the stingray adjusted itself, accompanied with what sounded like steam shooting from the joints. The turret swirling, electrodes buzzing, the shouting of officers who "swore by Lenin I saw something."

He counted twelve, six on shore, six more in the surf. Close nit enough. Firebird waited for the right moment, a gap in the metallic, arachnid fleet, when one of them stepped mere inches from Firebird's face. It was now the right time.

Firebird jolted towards the center Stingray. The fleet didn't see this coming but adjusted their tesla coil sights to the charging hostile.

Firebird began to burst into flames, resembling a human torch. He synchronized with as many stingrays as he could see. Sensing the metal, the joints, the gunner picking his nose, or the smoking officer at the controls, until he could synchronize with the entire fleet.

Firebird felt as though he too succumb in the flaming explosion, a violent orgasm of energy surging through him. It was as though he were one with the metal, the flesh, the smoldering ground, bending it to his will. Metal became molten butter. Sand became glass. People inside melted like wax figures. Everything within the blast radius exploded simultaneously. What was once the mighty stingray fleet was nothing more than a pile of charred drift metal stuck between glass.

The engineer cowered in a small hole in the hillside. He heard the explosion, the sound of rushing fire all around him, the feeling as though being cooked alive in the small hole he hid. Then, only the waves in the distance.

It took him a minute to muster the courage to slide out.

A few steps were ash in sand, then cracking glass. In a circular radius, whatever sand and vegetation existed was now glass and ash. What remained of the Stingray has scattered all around, like a metal art collection from hell. Some plants were still burning.

Firebird just kneeled in the center of the destruction, typing on his computer, smoke levitating from his suit. He listened to the crackling of the engineer's footsteps, the thump as he tripped on a charred leg. He was at the right distance.

"Three things I think you should know" Firebird said aloud, his voice muffled through the helmet. He closed his computer screen, his back turned to the engineer. "One: the situation has changed. Our rescue mission has turned to a burn mission."

"A burn mission?" the engineer asked, picking himself up.

"Neutralize the entire base before reinforcements arrive" Firebird answered.

"Second: Your mission is to accompany me to the command center. I guess I can leave the rest up to your occupation."

They could hear the swishing of an incoming Twinblade assault chopper. Though the engineer stumbled, about to flee. Firebird just stood, facing the engineer. He extended his finger, synchronizing with the chopper's propellers. They melted, dropping the twinblade into the mountainside, tumbling down to a stop before exploding.

"And what's the third, sir?" The engineer stuttered, pulling himself up. Firebird reached over and yanked his arm upward, standing him up.

"Third" Firebird said, pointed that same finger at him "Don't get in my way."


	2. Chapter 2

Red Alert III

"Firebird"

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Red Alert 3 franchise, and/or its characters, those belong to EA and whoever else owns C&C.

-Two-

"_I've received word that you have footage of Subject three's performance, am I not mistaken."_

"_My team has been monitoring his performance since his departure."_

"_Show me."_

"_Remarkable is it not? His pyrokenesis has almost pinpoint accuracy, even if he is weaker than the other two; And the kill ratio, I do not care what Shimada says, his statistics, his gender alone is something for the records."_

"_Though his social skills leave a lot to be desired, what of the Engineer with him?"_

"_What about him, he's allied property, none of our concern."_

"_He hasn't killed him so far; all we can do is sit back and collect the data."_

"_Please, we're not dealing with Shimada's meal tickets; he is by far more docile and loyal than the others."_

"_But what if the Engineer decides to report Subject Threes action; it could be a problem to the operation."_

"_Enough!"_

"_As I said, the Engineer is none of our concern. Nor is Subject Threes social skills, leave that to public relations. Our primary concern, the only concern, is Subject Three's performance on the field. As for the Allied forces, the cogs are already turning. It is only a matter of time before the Empire strikes and when they do, President and Premiere alike, will give us their own children just to keep him. Meeting adjourned."_

II

The visor of the Tesla trooper shattered from the heat, exposing the charred remains of its inhabitant. The Tesla suit had melted in a way where it stood, its thick boots melted into the gravel, as though it were a monument of those slain by Firebird's flames. The suit stood in the middle of an avenue of flames, next to a crater that had once been a soviet barracks, and on the blackened ground lay dozens upon dozens of charred bodies clutching melted AK's, their expressions of screaming fear on their blackened mummified faces.

By the time, Firebird had come across the airfield he had already engaged more than half of the soviet's ground forces, leaving more than half of the island burning. The sky blackened with smoke and burning ore, reflecting the bleakness below. Even with the vindicator mask, the stench of burning hair and melting plastic seeped through the breather.

The engineer had gone MIA; he had assumed the coward had stayed in the mountain grass top where they had discussed the plan, where they had waited until dusk for the attack. He did not wait for the Engineer's approval or haste, and did not want it.

_Better off this way, _Firebird thought, _better off everyone stays away from me._

A Hammer tank had plowed through one of the hangers, taking aim at the blue figure coming forward. The gunner had not realized the melted tank barrel in time before firing. The hammer tank's top exploded from within, Firebird moved on without flinching.

Just then, he realized what he had just stepped into. Suddenly, more Hammer tanks and two of the dreaded Tesla tanks burst fourth from the hangers and crates in the holding bay. Firebird darted near the fallen Hammer tank as AK fire and flak rockets blasted his path, slowly disintegrating the little cover Firebird had.

He flipped open his forearm computer, flipping on the map. He noticed several yellow triangles coming from the ocean, a squadron of Twin Blades and Migs. The company probably waited out there when the third line of defense had fallen, waiting for a surprise attack. Or to act as a distraction for the retreat of their precious commander, leaving while his troops burned to ash.

Firebird swore that the commander would be just as crispy as the troops he had sent to die.

Throughout the fluttering of blades and the grinding treds and the shouts of Russian slurs, he heard the familiar whoosh in the distance, the whoosh of a V4 rocket launch. He sprinted left, slowly charging himself up for a massive pyrokenetic blast. However, the buildup of fire also made him a very conspicuous target. The V4 rocket exploded, the blast tossed Firebird into the air. He tumbled, rolling at the south end of one of the garrisoned Hangers. His helmet visor cracked as he hugged the wall.

Before the troops inside could relocate, Firebird synchronized with the building. He could feel the metal floor heavy of furniture and combat boots, the bolts and wood that held it together, the alloy, and the floor. Synchronizing with buildings took a lot longer to burn than tanks or planes. His target was the building itself rather than a turret or a propeller base.

The building turned red, and began to melt. He could hear the screams of those inside, and finally, burst into flames. He lay on his stomach by the flaming rubble, set his black ablaze, blending in with the wreckage. Waiting as the twin blade choppers and Migs flew overhead, searching the field, keeping in their square formation.

A mistake Firebird was ecstatic to exploit.

When he telekinetically felt the tank treads coming closer, and the squadron circling the field, he struck, and struck hard.

He synchronized quickly with Twin blade propellers, dropping the chopper onto a Tesla tank, destroying both. He then dropped another onto the V4 launcher before it could even roll backwards. He dropped Twin blades and Migs in random order so not to give away his position.

At one point, he had dropped two choppers, missing the intended tank, only to have it reverse into the ocean.

With the veil of the confusion and havoc of the devastated ambush force, Firebird had crawled away, rushing behind hangers until he found the airfield command tower. The ten-story tower erected at the near edge of the artificial island, oval command center above, but his target was not up above. It was down below.

_This was where he wanted to make his final stand? _Firebird chuckled; _even the coward commanders at least hid in their panic rooms onboard the MCV's. _

He had thought of simply burning the tower, even the artificial island. However, to him, that would be a waste. He wanted to cook the commander personally, and wanted the remaining forces to know that HE was the one who did it.

He snaked his way to the back entrance, melting the chain link lock to lava, sneaking in.

The stairway itself could have belonged to an apartment complex, with its white washed walls, and polished black painted railings, nothing special. He could hear reinforcements several stories down, grunting and barking orders up the stairs. He realized the central gap between the stairs was wide enough to jump down.

Estimating the numbers below, he quickly charged himself up, lifting himself beyond the rail, melting the metal in the process before jumping down in a falling inferno. He synchronized with the floor, every conscript he could sense, every jacket, every AK.

The blast incinerated every living thing in the stairway, the flames traveled upward, blowing doors off their hinges, turning human beings into ash, only leaving shadow imprints on the wall. The ground floor was nothing but blackened, melted railing and blackened concrete littered with melting AK's stuck to the walls. He rose up, ash raining down on him, filling the air.

"My fault, what do you mean-" An explosion blew the metal door off its hinges, causing Commander Otslav's and the remaining tacticians and officers to scatter from their posts. So far, the thick metal door of the fallout shelter was the only thing that stood between what remained of soviet order on the island, and what had set it ablaze.

Otslav looked at all twenty of them as he reached for his sidearm. He could see it in their eyes, the fear, the frustration, the fatigue both mentally and morally. They all had to endure the pain of loss of their brothers in arms. To listen to their shrieks and pleading to both command and god before the fizzling silence they all so dreaded. They were at the breaking point; he had already gone far beyond it, prepared for what had to be done. _Now It came to this, _Otslav thought, cocking back his pistol.

They waited as the smoke fogged in, Otslav aiming at the open doorway. His men flanked him, watching, and waiting for the end.

Without warning, without even a hint of hostility, one by one, they burst into flames. In panic, Otslav fired away, first aiming for the blur hidden under the black smoke, then his flaming comrades granting a quick, honorable death.

As the smoke cleared, the two stood face to face on opposite ends of the shelter. Otslav fell to his knees, frozen in shock before his fallen charred comrades. Fear and rage in civil war within his very being, thoughts flying through his head like machinegun fire, as he stared down the man responsible for the death's of so many of his comrades.

Gaining back his rationality, Otslav screamed his war cry as he aimed and fired. He fell silent after realizing he had emptied his clip on his fellow comrades. He looked for another on his belt, no dice.

The two stared each other down, the silence lasting for half a minute before "A…A coward, that's all you are" Otslav called out, slamming his fist onto his chest, tears streaming down his cheeks "a filthy capitalist coward?"

Otslav blinked, confused.

Firebird lifted up his arm; Otslav let out a shriek and fell backwards onto the crisp remains of two of his former comrades. Every step he made, the former general crawled back until he was cornered. Firebird could taste the essence of fear as his shadow cast over the former commander, letting out a sigh.

"Who's the coward now?" Firebird asked.

The commander shrieked in agony as he burst into flames, skin turning to darkened ash, eyes melting, flinging himself over to Firebird who simply threw him back down to the floor. When the flames had turned Otslav's brain to Hamburger meat, Firebird was already heading up the staircase. That feeling of disappointment still lingered.


End file.
